The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude
by CoyPiay
Summary: Identity, in part, comes from memory. So what happens to you when all of your memories are revealed as lies? The slate has been wiped clean, and Siri Eisen has nothing left in the world, but Steve Rodgers and his undeniable need to save people. Read "Remembered" and "In the Middle" first. Steve/OC (finally!)
1. Chapter 1

**The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude**

**Book Three of Siri's Story**

**PROLOGUE**

* * *

It took me approximately one second to realize I had made a huge mistake.

My hand flew up to shield my eyes, but it was too late and my retinas were burnt. It couldn't have been brighter if I had stepped onto the surface of the sun. For all I knew, I had. As if I could rewind the moment, I shuffled blindly backwards to pass through the stone doorway. It was a soft step, and then the ground betrayed my feet: I slipped and was on my back, the wind knocked out of me.

I stared in horror at the brightest lapis sky I had ever seen, a color I couldn't reconcile with my earthly experiences of blue. The next moments were absorbed by pain on the surfaces of my skin exposed to the light. And through my nose and throat and into my lungs, now working past the scare of being knocked out. I didn't accept or understand the tasteless air passing through my nose.

_Cold_, my brain finally told me. The pain was cold. I squinted into the mystery of the lapis, gasping. I couldn't accept the changes from the soggy night in the UK to this stark cold, bright. I clenched my hands into fists; the tips of my fingers protesting against the pain.

This was wrong. This was very wrong. I lifted my head and my eyes adjusted enough to see that I was in the center of a perfectly flat white surface, covered with about two inches of powdery snow. I shaded my eyes as I traced the expanse of white to the edge, where a mountain sharply rose, like a dark wall. The sun was above the range and even with my hand shading my face, it was almost unbearable to look towards.

I slowly pushed myself to my feet and turned my gaze to the other side. Wilderness. A range of mountains. To every side. This was a lake in the middle of mountains. In the direction away from the sun, the mountains looked the mildest. The slope was gradual and I could see valleys and jagged tooth-like peaks above them. My hand found its way to my stomach, slightly rounded beneath my raincoat.

What had I done?

It was beautiful beyond my imagination. Untouched by man, wild and alien. Treacherous. It would have been much better if I had been snuggled on my couch with Steve, in front of the TV, watching a documentary. The beauty was terrifying this close. This place was not meant for humans.

My eyes watered.

I spun slowly. The view was unchanging. No rock formations, no rain, no car headlights, no Dr. Selvig. Not even a shadow of the night I had just stepped out of, or the frame of rock I had stepped under. A stab of fear had me gasping icy air into my lungs. What had I done? What had Dr. Selvig done?

"Dr. Selvig?" I called out; my voice was small and faraway-sounding. I couldn't get enough oxygen into my lungs and it felt like I was jogging.

"Dr. Erik Selvig!"

* * *

**Ah! It feels so good to be back! If you are returning, like me, after a one year hiatus, yay! And if you are just joining, welcome. To all: thank you for reading, and a SPECIAL thank you, in advance, for your reviews. Those are the most amazing gifts you can give a fanfiction author. Lets us know we not alone ;)**

**Love to you all,**

**-Coy**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude **

**Chapter 1**

* * *

It became very clear, during the debriefing I was served, that I couldn't talk about it. There just weren't words that meant the right thing. My mouth was heavy—too heavy to open. I think this scared Steve more than any of my other reactions. I could tell he was worried, and it made me feel guilty. The looks he gave me…it wasn't like I forgot how to talk, I just didn't have the words.

So that's why I wasn't speaking at Walter's memorial.

Pogo whined in my arms. Yes, I did bring my dog to Walter's memorial service. Or I was going to as soon as I figured out how to sneak him into the auditorium of the Wheeler Opera House, which had just enough seating for all the strangers that claimed to have known Walter best. He was a smallish dog, but not small enough to fit into a handbag. I didn't want to just walk in with him, because someone would stop me and ask me why I was bringing my neurotic cocka-poo into a memorial. That would mean I would have to have an answer and I would have to say it out loud. I did not have it in me to explain.

This street had been spared from Amora's destruction. It was one of the only streets not affected that night. This made the Historical Society even more protective of the buildings they cherished. I didn't have to look far to find damage, just had to turn my head to the left to see the blackened gap where our house had been, farther up the hill. I didn't not look, though.

Tony Stark stood with Pepper Pots and Bruce Banner on the corner of the street, out of the flow of memorial service attendees. People left them alone after a glance; it was normal to see famous faces in Aspen. They had ridden with me and Steve in a black limo from the helicopter pad that had been temporarily fashioned from the rugby field, to pick Pogo up from the make-shift pet rescue, and then to the Wheeler Opera House.

I watched the stream of hunched shoulders and curious eyes filter into the double doors of the old brick building. How many back outfits could there be? I looked down at my own black dress. I had to borrow it from Pepper Potts and it fit me wrong and I hated it. I looked like an overgrown pre-teen playing business-formal. My legs were clad in nude stockings and there was a run from the back of my left knee all the way down to the 'sensible' heel. It was too cold to get out of the car in this outfit. I wanted to be in sweatpants, in a sweater, in wool socks, under a quilt.

One of the best things about Pogo was that he let me hold him any which way I wanted: a living and breathing, and occasionally barking, teddy bear. I think he knew I needed his small comfort, and he had certainly been happy to see me. And he was the last surviving artifact of a life that was now over for me. I wasn't letting him go.

Steve joined Tony, Pepper and Bruce on the corner, with the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents I didn't know. One of them was a woman with sleek black hair and scowl. The other was an older guy; he seemed genuinely sad and it was possible he was actually here just for the funeral. His face was deeply lined with age, but there was a fresh grief I had felt from him when he inside the limo with me.

I jumped out of my skin when the car door opened. A blast of winter wind blew into the car and Pogo struggled in my arms.

"Ready? It's about to start." Steve bent and held out a hand. His face was kind. It was always kind. I mustered up the resemblance of a smile for him and tucked the dog under one arm. Steve's hands were warm and he really looked dashing in a suit. My heart fluttered under a heap of unhappiness.

"Is he coming, too?" Steve asked.

I closed the car door behind me as an answer and started towards the doors. His palm pressed against my shoulder blade and all I wanted to do was to just get back in the car with Steve and be warm. I forced myself to move forward, careful not to slip on the ice in my sensible heels.

No one spoke as I approached; conversation slipped away awkwardly like they had been talking about me.

"Shall we?" Steve said, my temporary mouthpiece.

A brunette door man handing out programs looked at me in alarm as we stepped up.

"Uh, you can't bring your dog." he sort of mumbled. I glanced at the inside of the building thinking I might be able make a run for it.

"This is Walter's stepdaughter." The older S.H.I.E.L.D. agent spoke up this time.

"Okay. But pets aren't allowed. It's a Historical Building. I can't let you—"

"It's a working dog." Tony said. "Are you going to deprive this young lady from the help she needs? Are you going to break the law?"

The doorman did a double take in Tony Stark's face, and then peered at Pogo in suspicion.

"No, I just…it doesn't look like a working dog. What does it do?"

"He's a translator." Tony loosened his tie, whipped it off his neck, and draped it ceremoniously over Pogo's. "See?"

There was a moment where the guy looked at our completely serious faces before we sort of pushed past him into the lobby. Steve apologized to him. Pepper pulled herself into Tony, smiling.

The auditorium was full, as was the balcony. There was hushed murmur. The front row on the right hand side had been taped off for the family. And there was family, but not mine. It seemed like I should know everyone at my own stepfather's memorial service, especially coming from a small town. The Ski-Company guys dressed up in suits was an uncommon sight. It took me a moment to recognize them without their red and black snow pants and jackets. Peering around I caught sight of Gabe, hair tamed almost comically to the side. His eyes jumped to mine quickly and he gave a little wave. I didn't have it in me to wave back.

There were two people I thought would have been at Walter's funeral: my Grandma, and my mother's sister, Diana. I had not been able to get ahold of either of them. It made me nervous that they were dead. They too, must have been pawns my mother tricked into loving.

Two seats were available close to the right isle. It was quickly decided that Steve and I and Pogo would sit up there and the rest of our group would fend for themselves. As we took our places the murmurs got a bit less whispery and bit more like regular talking. I made Steve sit between me and the very overweight woman in pearls and grey curls; I sat on the end.

The service started and I couldn't concentrate on the words. It was like white noise. I listened to the sniffles and the crinkling of the paper program that had a black and white picture of Walter smoking a cigar in a ski cap. I felt like the whole auditorium was looking at the back of my head, which was completely ridiculous because they were all there to think about Walter.

Pogo sat on my lap, with Tony Stark's tie hanging from his neck. He watching the people to my right. I stared down the row, as inconspicuously as possible. I didn't recognize even one person. I looked down the other way, to Walter's family, who were all crying. Like mascara running down faces, snot dripping of chins crying. Steve caught me looking at the family and pulled a packet of tissues out of his jacket, handing them to the woman in pearls. She looked surprised to see him there, and then nodded her round red face in thanks, passing them off to the rest.

I had never tried to get to know Walter. In my mind he was my mother's sugar daddy. Old and rich, he had fit the bill as a husband for Amora to leech off of. Towards the end he had almost become like a real stepdad. He bought me an apartment in New York. He had tried to warn me about Amora over the phone. He was used like a pawn and them murdered when he was no longer useful. Judging by the huge amount of people and the constant sniffling, he was loved.

Guilt, again. Things happened to me and the people around me. Bad things. My initial reaction was usually to blame someone else, but it was clear to me that this was my fault. If I hadn't been born Amora wouldn't have used me against my real mother and father, wouldn't have hidden us on Earth, wouldn't have killed Walter.

I had been to a funeral once before: Michael, Amora's first husband. My first step-dad. I was in fifth grade, and again, not close enough to him to feel the proper amount of grief. He had been aloof and traveled a lot, bringing home extravagant gifts for Amora and side hugs for me. Which was really weird as a kid to get side hugs. He died of a heart-attack.

I almost choked, suddenly realizing she killed him too, probably. Of course she did. The money he left Amora had gotten us through until Walter was in the picture. It shouldn't have surprised me, but it certainly hurt again. The same wound, prodded at with a different object. Why didn't I realize my mother was a crazy murder? The same reason I didn't realize, for 23 years, that I am actually not human.

It was strange to be mourning someone in a theater. I had danced here every year in the Nutcracker, since I was five. The memorial felt like a morbid and solemn musical, with church melodies interspersed between monologues. We were all dressed up, fixated on the stage and the current speaker, who had now broken down to the point that her voice squeaked when she tried to speak. It was embarrassing me. I wasn't crying like I was supposed to. I wasn't speaking on his behalf like I was supposed to. I wasn't performing like I was supposed to.

I belatedly felt everyone standing for a final song. I rose unsteadily, and leaned on Steve, who wrapped his arm around my back, his fingers brushing my collar bone. My arms were tired of holding Pogo; he wasn't a scrawny dog.

It was supposed to be the best day ever, right? I finally had my freedom from the heavy chains Amora had placed on my heart and mind. I had no burden of a crazy mother, who turned out to actually be a magical kidnapper alien witch. Her spell was lifted, new winds blew the fog out of my mind; I had no ties to bind me. I was free. I was free from everything because I had nothing of my past left.

I was_ too_ free.

Identity comes, in part, from memory. And what if those memories were all lies?

—

The car had grown cold in our absence. Steve waited until I slid into the seat before crunching his body in after me. Pogo jumped off my lap as soon as I released him from Stark's tie. He leaped into the front passenger's seat. I didn't bother to move him, he would whine at me the whole ride if he didn't get to sit there. The driver slid into his own seat and reached over to give Pogo a pat on the back before turning the ignition.

The two S.H.I.L.E.D. agents found seats in the stretch limo, towards the front of the car, where they could keep an eye on their precious cargo of superheroes. They spoke in hushed tones as Bruce Banner, Tony Stark and Pepper Potts piled in. The car was equipped with enough seats, but it felt crowded nonetheless, with larger-than-life personalities.

Tony immediately pulled out a flask from the car stock, as well as a bag of peanuts, and offered them to Bruce, who declined. It became clear, though, that Tony was actually asking him to open the bag for him.

"Well, I think that was nice. Very classy." Pepper said into the silent car as Bruce popped the bag and handed the peanuts to Pepper, who put the nuts in the cup holder closest toTony. "He was a great man."

"Back to the field, please," one agent instructed the driver. The car inched though the exiting crowd of mourners.

"You sure you don't want to stay for the Survivors' Dinner?" Steve asked me.

I nodded resolutely, avoiding eye contact. Guilt. I should be going to greet people, to accept and give condolences. Should. Wouldn't.

I felt the gaze of the others and I looked at my hands in my lap. I was warming up, sitting between Bruce and Steve, but I hadn't stopped shivering yet.

Pepper's phone vibrated.

"Perfect." She said after a moment, typed a reply, and then looked up. "Walter's Personal Representative, Neil, you met him yesterday, he's in charge of the settling the financial affairs." I nodded. "He has sent in the forms as of two minutes ago. My estate attorney and accountants can handle most of what's left. Walter was very thorough. I don't think you will have anything to worry about."

I nodded. That was one weight lifted. I had no idea what to do after someone died, let alone after you've lost your whole family. Thank God for Pepper Pots and her need to take charge of situations. The Avengers has not been able to avenge Walter, but they had taken care of me.

The car was quiet then. Solemn. Tired. Bruce, especially looked haggard. He always did, a bit, but the last two days he hardly said a word, and like me, was resigned to a moody silence. He wasn't very big, when he was a man. I sat higher than eye-level with him, and when I looked over, his brow was deeply furrowed. I wanted to say something to make him feel better, for a moment, then the words were gone again. There was nothing to say.

The driver took a detour around a particularly bad patch of destruction and memories, and I said my goodbyes to my hometown, in my head. My new life was starting. Change is good, I told myself. This was my chance to start over.

These spurts of fake cheer burst like soap bubbles; here and shiny, delicately iridescent, then gone, leaving only a sticky residue.

My entire life, or what's left of it, was in the back of this car. Any residual clothes I had left at home when I had moved to New York, Pogo's small kennel, a few books, a photo album, were all packed away. The rest had been put up for auction, sold, demolished or restored as Pepper Pots' estate lawyer had seen fit to arrange. I was leaving Aspen for, probably, the last time. I would miss the clean fresh mountain air, clear sky, open spaces with no crowds. I would miss the snow capped peaks in the winter and the billions of aspen trees changing from green to gold to rust in the fall.

I would miss my aunt Diana and my Grandma, and that niggled at me like a hangnail. I had tried calling them, but I didn't actually try to get to my Grandma's farm, located just 40 minutes away. They should have been at the funeral. Unless they were dead or secretly hated Walter or me. Or if they had been on Amora's side. My stomach turned and I squirmed at the thought.

We moved as a group into the helicopter after the pilot, Steve, and I hauled my luggage in one trip, into the cargo hold. I let Pogo pee and then loaded him into his kennel. The flight was loud and freezing, but soon over. We landed not five miles away at the private airport where a plane would take Steve, Pepper, Tony, Bruce and I to New York City. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents parted ways, headed to some secret destination, on to the next mission.

The private jet was luxurious with leather interior with a bar and multiple TVs. It had three separate cabins, one of which Tony and Pepper disappeared into. Dr. Banner found his way to the smallest cabin near the front, where first class would usually be located on a commercial jet, leaving Steve and me sit across from one another. A stewardess with a low-cut blouse and six inch heels offered us drinks.

"Coffee. Black," Steve said. "Please." He looked at me and I shook my head at the red-lipped stewardess, as a no-thank-you.

"Make that two." Steve added, knowing I'd probably drink it if it was in front of me. She smiled sweetly and left us to our uncomfortable silence, silence that seemed to stretch far behind and in front of me like a desert.

"I'm worried about you, Siri," he said suddenly. It was loud and clear. Steve, always direct and honest, put my evasions and passivity to death.

My jaw clenched and my eyes traced the hem of my dress in my lap.

"Are you OK?" He sat forward and put a hand on my cheek. Despite myself, I felt my face get warm.

Instead of trying to find the words to tell him I was not OK, I closed my eyes, and I moved boldly through the space that was separating us. I pressed my lips to his, pulling what strength and peace I could from them, and he kissed me softly, with reserve I didn't particularly want.

What I wanted was a real kiss, A kiss that would drown me, make me forget everything but him. I wanted physical love that I could latch onto and know was real. God, I needed something real. It was over before the pretty stewardess returned. We were on the edge of our seats knees touching, faces centimeters apart. Too far apart.

"Siri," he tried again, his breath an invitation.

"Look. I know you aren't talking." He paused for a long time and sat back into his chair. I moved like a magnet, shuffling into his lap, a place I'd come to love. The only place I felt safe.

"That's fine. I'll do the talking." He continued, pulling me close. "You've lost a lot. I get that. I did, too. I lost everything. I had to start completely over, new life, new world, new people. Everything and everyone I knew was gone. My friends, my…everyone. I guess, what I'm trying to say is, I know what you're going through. I know what it is to be lonely. And I'm here for you, to stay. I want to help. I have to. Please. Let me help." His voice ended in a whisper next to my ear.

"You are." I sat up away from his body, my eyes jumped to his, finally making contact. He was the only thing that was helping. "You…are…." Those were the first two words I'd said in a long time. I didn't know how to tell him what he was. If I didn't have him, I would be lost. I knew he came with baggage, a history, everybody did. His own pain pulled me momentarily out of my funk, as I thought about what he had lost. I wasn't the only one hurting.

He searched my face, and then sighed, resigning to just hold me, like he had been doing for the last two days.

We watched out the small round window as Aspen faded from sight, the ground below a jagged mess of snow and rock. The sun set soon after that, and when we flew over a lake, it was a shine of gold, reflecting the clouds in their most glorious colors. I fell asleep listening to his heart, steady and strong.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

_It took me approximately one second to realize I had made a huge mistake._

_My hand flew up to shield my eyes, but it was too late and my retinas were burnt. It couldn't have been brighter if I had stepped onto the surface of the sun. For all I knew, I had. As if I could rewind the moment, I shuffled blindly backwards to pass through the stone doorway. It was a soft step, and then the ground betrayed my feet: I slipped and was on my back, the wind knocked out of me._

_I stared in horror at the brightest lapis sky I had ever seen, a color I couldn't reconcile with my earthly experiences of blue. The next moments were absorbed by pain on the surfaces of my skin exposed to the light. And through my nose and throat and into my lungs, now working past the scare of being knocked out. I didn't accept or understand the tasteless air passing through my nose._

_Cold, my brain finally told me. The pain was cold. I squinted into the mystery of the lapis, gasping. I couldn't accept the changes from the soggy night in the UK to this stark cold, bright. I clenched my hands into fists; the tips of my fingers protesting against the pain._

_This was wrong. This was very wrong. I lifted my head and my eyes adjusted enough to see that I was in the center of a perfectly flat white surface, covered with about two inches of powdery snow. I shaded my eyes as I traced the expanse of white to the edge, where a mountain sharply rose, like a dark wall. The sun was above the range and even with my hand shading my face, it was almost unbearable to look towards._

_I slowly pushed myself to my feet and turned my gaze to the other side. Wilderness. A range of mountains. To every side. This was a lake in the middle of mountains. In the direction away from the sun, the mountains looked the mildest. The slope was gradual and I could see valleys and jagged tooth-like peaks above them. My hand found its way to my stomach, slightly rounded beneath my raincoat._

_What had I done?_

_It was beautiful beyond my imagination. Untouched by man, wild and alien. Treacherous. It would have been much better if I had been snuggled on my couch with Steve, in front of the TV, watching a documentary. The beauty was terrifying this close. This place was not meant for humans._

_My eyes watered._

_I spun slowly. The view was unchanging. No rock formations, no rain, no car headlights, no Dr. Selvig. Not even a shadow of the night I had just stepped out of, or the frame of rock I had stepped under. A stab of fear had me gasping icy air into my lungs. What had I done? What had Dr. Selvig done?_

_"Dr. Selvig?" I called out; my voice was small and faraway-sounding. I couldn't get enough oxygen into my lungs and it felt like I was jogging._

_"Dr. Erik Selvig!"_

This is what I deserved. It had to be. I shouldn't have trusted him. He was obviously crazy. His fervor and scientific jargon had me believing that he could get me home to Asgard and my family. But this wasn't home. This wasn't civilization. This was the middle of nowhere on who knows what planet. I should have known better to think this would work. Nothing went right for me. I had left Steve and Earth and safety for this cold and lonely death.

"Dr. Selvig!" I screamed his name. It was like a shadow on a cloudy day.

I was cursed. I had to be.

I searched the low, flat ground I was on. My head pounded with the effort of looking into the whiteness. There was white and there was cold. There was blue blue sky and dark mountains. There was nothing else. This consumed and paralyzed me for a time.

I shivered, frozen to the spot. I didn't have winter clothes or winter survival skills. My heart was clenching in my chest. I had made my last mistake. And it wasn't just me who was suffering now. I was responsible for more than just myself.

_Steve. Steve. _What had I done?

The stillness was broken by a gust of wind that picked up loose snow. It struck my eyes. I wrapped my arms over my face, bent in half, and did the only thing I was capable of: I screamed. My fingertips were numb, as was the end of my nose and ears. Familiar nausea threatened to empty me.

It took me a few minutes to realize my backpack was gone. Selvig hadn't been sure it would come with me. At least he got one thing right.

I had my raincoat on, but my shoes were hopelessly inappropriate for snow, as were my jeans. The jeans that almost didn't fit me anymore. I was going to freeze to death; I had to move. Standing around wasn't going to keep me warm. I wasn't happy to leave the spot that Dr. Selvig might find me, but I had no way know if he would even try to help me, let alone if he could find the same spot twice.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

If only Thor had just told me _exactly _how to contact him. He had been too vague. He had said that I only had to wish. Well I wished. I wished like a prayer to a pagan god. I wished out loud, in my mind, in a whisper with my eyes closed. I called to Heimdall, who was supposed to work the Bifrost, according to the myths. Either he couldn't hear me or Thor was lying when he said I could go to Asgard.

S.H.I.L.E.D. didn't have the technology, and even if I had gone to Fury for help (yeah right) he would have told Steve what I was doing and the whole thing would be blown. So I had taken matters into my own hands, or into Dr. Selvig's. My mistake was a fatal one, and it sat in my stomach like load of bricks.

There was no way I was going to be able to survive in the open, with no food, shelter or water. Well, I probably wouldn't be able to survive this even if I had been prepared. I was a Colorado girl, but I wasn't a particularly outdoorsy person and I definitely wasn't some wacko-survivalist who lived in Siberia to get away from people and to get in touch with nature and deer carcass.

I had to get off the lake and into the mountains. I decided to move away from the sun, partly because I couldn't stand looking towards it and partly because the mountains looked more forgiving in that direction.

Without really knowing who I was most furious with, I stomped forward, the only other sound the growling wind. I slipped, slamming down on my butt.

Right.

Ice.

* * *

Alfarinn Frey's ears picked it up before he could see it. Someone or something was making a racket. A woman, or a child, he would guess, except there were no women or children in these parts. An animal, wounded? He listened, again, his chest pressed to the limb of the tree that held him high enough to see to the far mountain shores. The hair on the nape of his neck itched. It was faint, but unmistakable. A far-off cry, coming on the back of the wind, off the lake, The lake was no place to be caught this time of year. The frost bears were waking up, the ice was thin in some places. No one was foolish enough to stay on these shores, unless they, like himself, were skilled. Or not right in the head.

Strangers weren't necessarily welcome. The realms were at war. Only his world, Alfheim had managed to stay neutral. Since the Bifrost had been destroyed those realms had erupted in chaos. Rebellious groups and usurpers of the peace took their opportunity to gain ground against Asgard. Without immediate transportation of troops, Asgard couldn't defend the peace. Alfhiem was the exception. Light elves were above the petty squabbles of the eight other realms. Intelligence, diplomacy and communication keep Alfheim neutral. That and his group of trained Wardens who were always wary of evil.

In his years as a Warden on Alfheim, he had seen nothing more evil than local terrors. But there were songs of the deeds of the Dark Elves, of the Frost Giants, of those that would forsake wisdom and spill the blood of brothers for things like fame, and greed, and lust. This woman, days away from any civilization, screaming in the middle of the great lake was just strange enough to put a bad taste in his mouth.

Leave it. He had completed his watch. It was time for a hot bath and family. He had only to give command and he and the wolves would be well on their way home to lovely Isond and the Citadel.

The thought was fleeting, if warming. It was his duty and the duty of his men, to make certain of peace from The Citadel to the eastern shores of the great lake. If some woman was stupid enough to get lost, days away from the nearest town, making a show of herself in the middle of an unstable frozen lake for every predator to spot, then he would warn her against the perils of this land and help her home. If it was a trap, then he would rely on instinct and decades of mostly unused training.

But afterwards, straight home to Isond's black hair and black eyes. And the rest of the city and it's politics.

He watched the woman, a black smudge moving slowly but surely towards the Skathi Mountains. Damn fool. He put his fingers to his lips and let out a short, high whistle. Geri and Freki were at the base of the tree, tails wagging, tongues lolling, before his feet hit the snow. Geri's white front paws shoved at the back of Alfarinn's shoulders, nearly knocking him over, a wolfy embrace, playful but heavy.

"Get off, you oaf."

Freki barked her laugh as Alfarinn Frey pulled his pack and sled out of the pile of snow he had hidden it in. The wolves chased each other madly through the trees as he put the harness and leather straps into place.

"Hey!" He called in mock-anger. "Cubs." The fully-grown wolves tore through the snow and underbrush, coming to a shaky stand-still, just long enough for the harnesses to be attached to the lines and the lines to the sled. It was a bit of a struggle to secure his pack onto the sled as they wiggled and nipped, and then they were off, streaking towards the great lake and the crazy woman.

It was relatively warm. The trees had been dripping melted icicles at midday. The sled whispered over the snow, until the ground became too uneven. Alfarinn quickly broke the sled down and fit it and the lines into his pack. The shadows of the tress were longer every minute, and days short lived.

He pushed through drifts of heavy, wet snow, until he stood on the brim of the lake. It wasn't very large; he could see the branches of the trees on the opposite mountain. It was deep though; the traders hauled in fish twice the weight of a man. She kept her path at a diagonal and didn't seem to notice him.

He lifted a hand and called out a greeting.

She caught sight, nearly slipped, and yelled something. His ears seemed to play a trick. He could hear her words, but they didn't make sense. They weren't garbled by the wind or distance; they were words he had never heard. She flung her arms above her head and changed her direction to meet him. For a moment the fact that he couldn't understand her language froze every part of him but his mind. He knew every tongue of this world and what she yelled was not just unfamiliar, but alien.

Midgard. What they call _Earth_. The blind planet.

No: impossible. There was no interplanetary travel to Midgard, except those through Heimdall in Asgard. And then it was only Thor and company. She must be from Vanaheim. He couldn't pretend to know every tongue in all the realms. He hadn't had the chance to talk to many travelers, but it wasn't unheard of. How she arrived at this very spot was a mystery for later. Who ever she was, wherever she was from, she was literally walking on thin ice. She may not know it, but she needed his help.

"Stop!" he called out to her, and held his hands up, palms outward. He could see her slow down, slip, and then catch herself before falling. Freki growled, next to him. He put a hand on her neck and her noise simmered.

The girl (he now saw it was a young girl) began to move again. A new sound rumbled out of the ice. It was like a giant's hungry stomach calling out for food, a sort of grumbling.

"Stop!" he called, making the same hand gesture. He then crouched, keeping eye contact, and moved his hands as if he were smoothing something over the lake, to tell her to lay low.

She stood dumbly.

He rose, and then pressed his hand downward as if pushing a resistance with force, until he was sprawled on the ground. She looked around for a moment and then got onto her stomach.

He motioned for her to stay where she was, and then hopped up to look for a long, stiff branch. He found one, mostly dead, hanging off the bottom of a tree like a loose tooth, and yanked it.

Freki whined at the same time as the growling sound of the ice.

Using his makeshift walking stick, he took a tentative step out onto the frozen shore line. His foot slid and then found a hold in a fissure. The branch joined the precarious ice, and then his other foot. He dug in one end the branch and listened. When he was satisfied it was solid enough, he took another step out. The walking stick tested the path, as he made his way farther from safety than he would have liked.

The girl hungrily watched his approach. She was ready to have dirt underneath her feet. It was obviously a mistake to be caught out here. Stupid thing.

Stepping lightly and as quickly as he dared, he managed to not slip. He lowered himself to the dark ice, far enough away so that his weight wasn't in the same spot, but close enough so that if the ice broke from underneath her, his stick would reach her grasp. Provided he didn't go in as well.

She lifted herself onto her elbows and was talking again to him in quick, cutting and unmusical words.

"I don't understand you. I am sorry." He shrugged at her. She asked a question and he shook his head to say 'no.' She bit her lip, and, if he wasn't mistaken, he saw tears fill her eyes.

"Don't worry," he spoke softly as if she were even younger than she looked. "We'll get you to shore." She sniffled. He turned himself around to face his path and looked back to make sure she was watching.

"Move like this," he pulled his body weigh forward with his forearms and pushed as best as he could with his feet and knees. She copied him. And struggled. Progress was much slower than he had anticipated. She wasn't strong enough to keep it up, and had to take breaks.

Small noises of frustration bubbled out of her after a few minutes of this crawling and slithering. The ice was uncomfortably chilly on his belly, but this was a warm bath compared getting dunked into the waters underneath. It was slow going and he stopped three times to listen to the moaning of the frozen lake. She began to mutter under heavy-laden breath.

The color of the surface, under the bit of snow, gradually shifted to grey; the shallows were near. He breathed easier, with some of the danger past. He pushed himself to his knees and then to his feet, stick in hand.

He watched her painstakingly rise to her feet with a look that surprised him: exasperation aimed at him. Could she possibly blame any part of this day on him? It wasn't his fault she got herself stuck out in the middle of the lake. He turned his back on her and lightly stepped his way to the a wide flat rock and then nimbly touched solid ground. Gratitude was more appropriate a feeling.

Freka joined him, nearly unbalancing him. There was a warning sound, that grumble of an empty stomach, but much louder than before. He jumped into action, launching off the rock as he heard the crack, and skidding to a stop to watch her fall through a trap door in the ice. There was a splash of water over the lip of the ice. For half a heart beat it was silent, and then splashing and screaming broke through. Alfarinn Frey was on his stomach, as close as he dared, his stick over the opening in the solid ice.

"Take it!" he called at her as she gasped. Her breath came in billows of cloud, shining in the sunlight. Her hands pawed at the stick until her elbows were hooked over the stick. Then he was dragging her limp form as best as he could until they were on the shore. Her eyes were wide, terrified. She was muttering something, fists clenched and arms tight around her chest, he traced her gaze to Freki and Geri, who looked at her with mild amusement.

"They wont hurt you." he assured the girl.

Geri lost interest almost instantly and nipped at Freki's ear, which brought on a tussle.

"Come," he told all three, the wolves and the girl. She obeyed, but slowly. He had to get her into dry clothing as quickly as possible. Without stopping to ask for permission or offering her an option, he turned and slung her over his shoulder, plowing through the snow to his pack.

"Here we are. Not to fret. You'll be fine," he dished out small measures of comfort even though he knew she couldn't understand the words. He set her down and saw clearly the shock on her face.

He reached into his pack and found spare trousers, shirt and his over coat he had packed away. He knelt to look into her eyes; creatures understood through eye contact. At least dogs did.

"You must put these on." He shook the spare clothes at her. She blinked at him. His face got much sterner and he repeated himself. She didn't move to take the clothes, he could see her lips turning blue. He huffed.

_Stubborn girl._

"Very well. Have it your way." And he made a move as if to pull her jacket off over her head. This brought her to life and and a brought long string of words hot with indignity. He stood smugly and then turned his back to give her a bit of privacy. He listened as she stubbled out of the wet clothes. Did she ever stop muttering?

* * *

I was frozen to my bones with a strange man and his apparently semi-docile but gigantic wolves.

I was stark naked.

I couldn't get my fingers to do what I wanted; it was like they were stuck in fists. Buttons became intricate puzzles. My skin was nearly as white as the snow under my bare feet and I could definitely see bruises pooling around my knees from doing that stupid army crawl.

I couldn't smell the dirty-looking pants because I was too cold, but it took a lot turning a blind eye to get myself put everything on. _Life or death, Siri. _

When I was fully clothed I sat down to get my feet out of the snow. They were a gross yellow color I didn't think was very healthy. He turned back around and took my soaking wet clothes and, against all reason I could comprehend, began rolling them in the snow. As if they were't cold enough. I didn't say anything. What could I say? I was at his complete mercy.

A tiny trickle of fear warmed me. I wondered what kind of man I was dealing with. A weapon—either a short sword or a long knife —was sheathed and secured to his back by a leather strap that wound around his front. Other than that he didn't look armed. But he was strong…not that I was able to compete with even the scrawniest of men. He was wearing some sort of medieval getup, with trousers, boots and long weather-stained and thick shirt. He twisted my clothes to expel any water and rolled them again.

I wasn't great as guessing ages, but if I had to put a number on it, maybe forty something. The skin on his face and hands were callused, but not wrinkled. He was a couple of days behind on shaving and even washing. Dark ratty hair hung to his shoulders, tied in the back with a thick string. Something caught my eye; a bit of light coloring poked through slightly above his ears. I studied it for a moment and then realized it was his ear. It was the point of his ear. His pointy ear.

I nearly choked on a laugh. _Oh God. Wrong story. What was this, Middle Earth? No no no no. Nope. No way did he have pointy ears like an elf. _

He stopped putting my clothes into his animal-skin bag to look at me almost loosing it. I stifled my giddiness. It wasn't funny. It wasn't funny. I snorted.

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

Then he shrugged and pulled out an extremely anachronistic object from his bag. It was like a bundle of tent poles, but each pole was thick and flat and metallic. They were all bent and connected with what looked like wire. Deft hands unbent and untangled the bundle, snapping piece together. A flat form morphed and extended before my eyes, into, a one-person sled. A sled that you would see at the Iditarod races, only made out of impossibly light-weigh metal and able to fold up like a squished spider.

He secured wire to the sled and laid it out, then whistled and called out, "Gary, Frecky!"

I must have been in shock because the fact that the elf named his wolf _Gary_ made me laugh again. He ignored me and my laughter died out as the wolves burst though the snow, teeth bared and snarling. If they stood up on hind legs, the big one would be taller than me. My Pogo was a hamster compared to them. One word from the guy and I would be dead meat. Or maybe I was dead meat without his word.

I shrunk back as they got close. They ignored me, thank God, and impatiently allowed the guy to strap leather harnesses on. When they were crouched, barely containing wild energy, he turned to me.

He met my eyes. For a moment he seemed like the wrong age. Like his eyes didn't match his face. They were earth-colored and either too old or too young for him. He said something, and I honestly couldn't even guess at it.

We had a moment of understanding. He had proven himself to be a savior and I had proven myself in need of one. I had to trust this complete stranger until he wasn't trust-worthy. If it came to that, I didn't know what I would do. It made me miss Steve. I nodded miserably.

He reached into his bag again (was it endlessly huge on the inside?) and drew out an animal skin, heavy with long brown fur. He picked me up again and the warmth of his body made me shiver harder. I began to realize just how cold I was. He wrapped me completely in the stinky but very welcome fur and set me on the sled. He reached behind me to a hood I hadn't noticed and tucked my wet and frozen stiff hair in before drawing a string so that it wrapped securely to my head. His bag went on my lap and then both me and the bag were strapped down.

I thought I couldn't get colder, and then the wolves broke into a run, jerking the the sled and me with it. I screamed at the sudden movement and craned my neck around to see the guy running after the sled for a couple of steps before launching himself onto the back.

I was such a sissy. A slight spray of snow kicked up from paws, and I hid my face in the fur.

I hated the cold. Even what little warmth the sun had been giving was negated by the new breeze that seemed to find every crack in the fabric. The ground sloped up slightly, but the wolves didn't hesitate to climb.

Despite myself I found it kind of fun to be pulled along at a pretty good speed so close to the ground. Bare shrubs slid past and then trees that got taller and wider. Every so often I could feel the weigh shift in the sled as the guy hopped off the back and ran for a while. He, at least, was probably keeping nice and warm with the exercise, while I was strapped snugly to the metal sled. I soon had trouble feeling my legs.

The light got warmer in color and colder in temperature. The sun slipped behind the peaks to the left of us. The quiet of the winter-scape was mind numbing, as was the whisper of the sled through snow and the breaths of the wolves ahead. This was really the middle of nowhere. No houses or electrical wires or even birds. Nothing stirred as we slid past.. I breathed hot air on my hands to keep them alive in the nest of fur. The mountains before us got bigger every minute.

I had no way of knowing where he was taking me. I hoped we were heading to a warm house or the closest town. Anywhere with hot water. The thought came to me, belatedly, that I was leaving behind the lake and any chance of Dr. Selvig ever finding me. I was on my own. Well, not exactly. I had elf-guy. But he didn't even speak English.

And why should he? I had taken for granted that I would be able to speak the language. Thor spoke English. Did that mean everyone in Asgard spoke it, too? Or was it Norse? Something alien? I was not even going to be able to talk to my biological mother or father.

I squirmed inside. The fact that I was going to have to talk to them at all, let alone with a translator, was uncomfortable. All the "what-ifs" danced through my head like trained and abused circus animals.

The golden light turned silver and the shadows ate up our tracks. The sky in front of me turned a grey-pink and then lost it's rosy hue. We turned our direction farther left, so that the sun set behind us, and headed into the base of a narrow valley. Slopes of evergreens, branches heavy with snow, rose snarly on either side, now. I had to look directly up to see the tops of the mountain. Soon the trees came in too close to see the sky.

The elf-guy ran for longer periods of time, and I began to feel bad. I had his jacket on. He was in a simple peasant-like shirt with no head covering. I thought of offering him the jacket back, but then reflexively and selfishly drew myself in further to it's warmth.

Before it was too dark for me to see my hand in front of my face, the man broke the silence with a word and the wolves slowed to a trot and then a walk, panting. Their tongues dripped and they munched mouthfuls of snow. My eyes darted around, trying to find the cabin I had been expecting. With the warm bath and the soft bed and a hot cocoa.

I saw nothing.

He unhooked the wolves, who darted into the evening as if they hadn't been running for an hour straight. He then untied me and his bag and pulled me up to stand on a corner of the large fur I was wrapped in. Pins and needles crept up my shins and thighs. I waited, expectantly, for a direction in which to walk. I still couldn't see a house or any lights.

My heart began to sink. We weren't going to…not in this weather…he couldn't expect me to…oh my God. We would be sleeping outside. There had better be at least a tent. And a fire. My hair was still wet. I would probably get a cold or the flu and die because they were alien elves and I was a human and their medicine wouldn't work on me. Then I would never see Steve again, or Anouk or Pogo or even see the family I had sacrificed my life to come visit.

_Stupid, stupid, Siri._

I stood still as he worked. He pulled out his long knife and hacked away at some dead branches, breaking some into tiny pieces, laying some neatly in a messy square. A fire, then. He wasn't setting it up directly under low hanging branches, but under a bit of open sky, where I guessed smoke could escape directly upwards. My feet were unbearably frozen. I sat down and held one foot in my hand, rubbing it, and then the other, until the guy came and picked me up again. It was getting old, fast. I wasn't a child to be picked up whenever he felt like it.

He set me again on the fur, next to the fire. My spirit lifted like a hot air balloon. Modest flames hungrily licked the bark which, in return, snapped and hissed. Shadows bobbed and spindly branches were illuminated from underneath. The warmth gave me a happiness I wasn't expecting. I was hypnotized for a time, staring into the orange and white and red, until elf-guy gingerly tossed another log on. Sparks spat out the top.

I shifted my weight so that I could sneak glances at what he was up to. I realized he was silently making a sort of lean-to out of a fallen tree behind me. So no tent then. He walked a little ways, found a bough he liked, and then dragged it back to either add to the wall of the lean-to, or place on the ground, a prickly forrest floor. Or a bed. I was going to have to sleep next to him. A stranger. An alien. A strange alien with pointy ears and no English. Outside in the dead of winter.

I seriously have the worst luck. Ever.

* * *

**Hi Guys! An update!? So soon!? Youbetcha. I'm on a roll and thought I might as well share. If you are confused at this point, it's ok. Things will become clear soon. Please let me know what you think in a review. Thank you for reading. I don't own anything, really. But I did work hard on any original characterization and plot. **

**Love to you,**

**Coy**


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